Love, Blood and Rhetoric
by LithiumDoll
Summary: First season, casebased, ensemble


**Note**: Pre-1x22. WIP.

**Disclaimer**: The plot is mine, the characters are not.

**Feedback**: Always appreciated

"Hello? Earth calling Veronica Mars."

Veronica's gaze, which had been firmly fixed on a point roughly an inch to the left and year in the past, finally refocused to notice Wallace sitting across the lunch table. The lights came on and her head canted to the side in a familiar way that had himreplying before she even asked the question.

"No."

"Wallace, I need a ... no, what?"

"Whatever it is you're going to ask me, Vee. You got that look."

Veronica looked slightly disconcerted for a moment, Wallace wondered if anyone else had called her on her tactics. For a moment he almost felt bad for shaking her up, then the familiar gentle mockery returned to her expression and he happily reclaimed the moral high-ground.

"The 'turn me down' look? Damn, I was aiming for the 'isn't this the face of the woman I owe my pride and possibly life to?' look."

He rolled his eyes and stabbed one of the limp fries into ketchup, then waved the soggyresult at her. "You know that card's going to wear out some day, right?"

"And that's the day you'll be forced to help me just because we're friends. _This_ way means never having to say you like me. Your manly sensibilities are very important to me."

"It's like a Hallmark moment … sponsored by Jaws. Fine, what is it this time - a file? A diversion? Mad basketball skills? Maybe a pint of blood?"

Her smile widened and lit to become as sunny - and about as real - as a used car salesman's. "An ace reporter."

Wallace paused and frowned, then crossed his arms as he gave up trying to eat the greasy mess that constituted lunch. "That wasn't my next guess. Explain."

Pushing her lunch tray to one side, she crossed her arms on the table and leaned slightly forward. "A guy has hired my dad to ..."

"Wait, I thought your dad was in New Mexico for the week."

"Right." She nodded and rephrased without a blink. "So this guy has hired _Mars Investigations_ to keep an eye on his wife and his brother. They're both a part of this amateur theatre thing twice a week and he wants to make sure that's all they're a part of. Ha. Ha."

"Ha. Ha?"

"That's what the guy said." She shrugged carelessly.

"You get the real high class cases. I'm not even gonna say I was right there when your dad said not to take any more new jobs while he was away. Why you need me?"

The sunny-sell expression faded into a hard-edged smile he found a lot less unnerving but no more believable. "I was going to go down there, take some pictures and say it's for the school newspaper."

"Still not seeing my essentialism to this."

"_Good_ word. That calendar is really paying off."

"You are winning no points."

Her hands came up in mock-supplication. "I need someone to say he's writing the article, that all. Ask some questions, give me some cover."

"So ask someone from the journalism class."

"Yeah, can we see the problem there? I don't want to actually have to come up withthestoryfor real."

"What's in it for me?"

At last a real smile crept onto her face, begrudged and trying to hide itself away at the corner of her mouth. That was the smile he couldn't say no to, but there was no way this side of hell he was letting her know that.

"I thought you'd never ask." Veronica leaned to down to the side of her chair and rummaged in the depths of her purse for a moment before returning triumphant with a paper bag that she plunked before him.

Trepidation turned to anticipation as he looked within, then back to her. "Cookies?"

"Peanut butter and chocolate chip," she held a finger up, "_with_ a secret ingredient."

"Love?"

"Close. Nutmeg."

"So we're graduating from emotional blackmail to bribery? I'm okay with that."

"Great, I'll pick you up tomorrow at six."

His hand paused, cookie half way to his mouth. "That's not gonna work for me, every night this week is practise 'til eight. We got the game and I can't skip it. I kinda _am_ the game and all ..."

"Yeah, thanks, _Air_."

Mournfully he looked at the bag, fingers tightening on the cookie in his hand in case she tried to whip it away. "Can I keep the cookies?"

Her lips pursed and her gaze rose to the sky as she pretended to think about it, then nodded. "You can keep the cookies if you bus my tray."

His mouth was already full of crumbs and he attempted to talk around them. "Deal. Who you going to bribe instead? Meg'd help out."

"She doesn't do undercover. Great at acting but not so good with the improv."

"Huh. That Duncan guy? Are you two speaking this hour?"

"Do monosyllabic grunts count as speaking?"

"Not so much outside've the monkey cage. Weevil?"

"We're about even again; I don't want to owe him. I'll figure something out."

Swallowing, he spoke thickly through the remainder crumbs and tried not to choke on a peanut.

"Well, yeah girl. You're Veronica Mars, it's what you do."

Veronica began to gather the random bits of paper that had been laid out around her loose leaf into a binder. He didn't really bother to look at them anymore, they followed her around like orphan children and the short hand on them usually made no sense. He kind of doubted it did to anyone but her and maybe her dad.

"You didn't get slipped something by the pep squad, did you?"

"Funny. Hey, you gonna be at the game?"

"With little bells on. Go Team! See you later, Wallace." She slung her bag over her shoulder and walked back towards the main building. He watched for a moment and then went to find the team table.


End file.
